


The Hook is My Home

by HepG2



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Tony Stark, Civil War (Marvel), Conflict, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Frustration, Steve Rogers Feels, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 08:41:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6111130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HepG2/pseuds/HepG2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony asked Steve to meet to talk about the War. But Steve wanted information. And the table was quickly turned.</p><p>
  <em>"Are you afraid, Tony?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes. But not of you.” He let his forehead rest on the table. “I’m afraid of losing you.”</em>
</p><p>Steve just took and took, and Tony didn't have the will to fight him anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hook is My Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hullo, people~ this is a friggin' weird plot bunny that's been hopping around my brain for days. I want to keep Steve and Tony in-character while they do unthinkable stuff, so I hope it works. And... it's really a shameless practice for pr0n. Read on~

Midnight.

With one last covert glance over his shoulder, Steve pushed lightly against the rusty gate. The main road was minutes of walk ago and there was just him and the waxing moon in the inky sky to show him the way. Call him paranoid - he’d crouched behind a container for a while, just outside of plain view and he waited. It didn’t look like much, but the coordinates sent to his phone indicated this abandoned structure of what used to be a warehouse. All was calm, it was probably safe, and he didn't like it one bit. Half his mind started doubting it the meeting was supposed to happen at all. It could be a trap. Things had changed. People had changed.

Still, he’d hoped.

It was getting chiller by the minute to the point he was beginning to find the deliberating ridiculous. Tugging the cardigan closer to his chest he allowed himself in, ignoring the signboard that said “No entry”, so old that the red paint was peeling off the corners. Every step he took crunch resoundingly against cemented ground. Darkness coagulated around him. It was so quiet his ears were buzzing, and the moonlight did nothing to assuage his growing sense of unease.

“Tony?” he finally called out. His eyes darted all over the place, wary. 

Then the gate clang behind him. It echoed in the space, as loud as his blood pumping through his veins. With near zero visual capacities, Steve ducked low, his stance rigid and lethal. 

A presence spoke solemnly from behind, "Thank you for coming.”

Steve spun around. He could roughly make out the silhouette of another man as tall as he was, proud and strong where he stood. But he didn’t need to, not really. Everything about him had been committed permanently to memory. The way his voice dipped when he spoke of matters of import, the way it climbed a pitch when he joked, and the ringing tinge to it when he laughed. Steve remembered them all. He’d come to seek comfort in Tony’s company. Tony Stark – liar, manipulator.

Traitor.

“Sorry about the blackout,” Tony continued. “It’s only a precaution. Needed to make sure you were alone.”

“I am.”

“I know you are.”

A set of recessed lighting came on at the far end of the room. And there Tony was, a mere three strides away. Steve suddenly found himself unready for the contact, and the uncertainty was mirrored in Tony’s hooded features as well. But he held his gaze and managed a weak smile from where he was leaning against the white-washed wall. 

The last time they were in the same vicinity was a month ago. And that meeting ended with shattered bones and bonds. 

If there wasn’t a War between them, Tony would be dragging Steve off to his favourite diner. He’d reserved that table at the corner, the one with a slight limp in its legs because Steve liked the cosiness and seclusion it offered. He would take some time off work to teach Steve how to use the latest app from Stark Enterprise. They would be discussing Sun Tzu over a game of chess. But best of all, they would both be in bed right now, wrapped up entirely in the warm embrace of the other. They’d trade whispers of sweet nothings. Promises for a future together. 

“You wanted to talk?” Steve broke the silence. He took a cautious step towards Tony.

“We can make this quick. We can end the War right here, right now before –”

“It ends when you release all of whom you’ve wrongly detained. It ends when you _revoke_ the Accord.”

Tony ran a hand through his fringes. Steve remembered that too, how he’d mess his hair up when his flight simulations crash fantastically at two in the morning. Yet a feeble air of unfamiliarity lingered about him. Since Steve left the Tower and went underground – and thus officially started the War – Tony had taken to suiting up at all possible times. Even on TV, at press conferences and official functions when Tony was there on behalf of the government, he would be Iron Man. Media could be nasty nowadays, even more so when there was room for gossips – and Stark Enterprise was a juicy source of tells. Tony might've chosen to commit every bit of his waking hours to the War because Steve hardly come across reports of Tony and his company mentioned in the same sentence. In fact, he had a hunch that Pepper was now officially running the show. 

One relatively peaceful evening, Steve decided to watch the 8 o’clock news after a dinner of cold spaghetti. Pepper was on it, and she’d never looked more furious. Her interviewer was asking if Tony Stark incited the War to create turbulence in the market that would profit his ex-weapon-manufacturing company.

Steve turned off the TV in disgust.

So as they stood facing each other, Steve realised that it really had been ages since he last saw Tony out of the suit. It was the most sensible decision. They’d fought about this – verbally and physically – that there was no denying that outside of the metal cocoon Tony was after all, just a man. Still here he was unprotected, undefended. 

Alone.

“I’m putting this in the simplest term, then. I’m offering you, and ten other members on your party an official pardon. It’s a pretty good bargain under current climate.”

“And in return?”

“And in return, you and the pardoned superheroes sign ‘Yes’ on the Accord and we pretend the War never happened. Clean slate. You’re Captain America. People listen to you. You’ll go back and convince the rest to join us. No more fighting.”

So, Tony had hoped, too.

“Tell me, lately how do you sleep at night? How does it feel going around your friends and family and stabbing them in the back? Hauling them off to God-knows-where, seeding fear and unrest. You’re the biggest bully in town and there’s just no stopping until you get your way.”

“Don’t you see? This isn’t about me. This isn’t even about proving who’s right or wrong! This is _bigger_ than the both of us and you know it. Tell me Steve, if you think we’re prejudiced and cruel, why don’t you take a good look at your own soldiers? One is unstable, another did time in prison –”

Steve’s face twisted to that of disgust. “They were once your greatest allies – you gave them both a home and a chance at a better future, and now they’re criminals because it’s convenient?”

“And Barnes isn’t all halos either!” Tony pushed himself off the wall. “You want to know why I’m for the Accord? This isn’t just about liberty and rights. This is about exercising all of them under reasonable restraint. And it has been the way of life since the dawn of humanity, Steve! God help me, how else can I make you understand that if we don’t accept these restraints, we’re no better than the bad guys?”

Then something clattered above them, flesh on zinc. Steve half-expected gunfire and explosions, and through the fiery chaos an onslaught of Cape Killers. Before his mind could register it he had Tony pinned for good against the wall with his forearm locking the billionaire's chest in place.

Tony chuckled darkly. “Don’t you trust me when I say I come alone?”

Steve pushed against Tony, silencing him. From high above they heard a hiss and a meow, then the scampering of a four-legged creature off to the other end of the roof. Steve let go a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Told ya.”

“All right. I’m not here to turn myself in. I want information.”

“You don’t have leverage on me. I’m not telling you anything.”

Steve’s face inched closer. Tony could feel his hot breath ghosting over his cheek. “You have Bucky. Don’t deny it, I know you do. I want to know where you’re holding him.”

The edge of Tony’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. Steve seemed pretty sure that they had the Winter Soldier in captivity. As far as he knew, the press hadn’t been informed of Bucky’s capture – so Steve must’ve gotten his intel from someone on the _inside_. Interesting. It was something he would do - had done, by all means - and he'd admit it was surprising, but not because it was beyond Steve's guile. Rather, the only thing stopping him from crossing over to Fury's flavour of formidability was his heart. So if Steve had to ask for a location, perhaps the existence of the Negative Zone still eluded the Anti-Reg?

Well, this chat could prove useful after all.

“You’ll risk your life for Barnes?”

A muscle in Steve’s jawline twitch.

“James Buchanan Barnes. After what he did to me. To my parents. Don’t tell me you didn’t know that, or did you selectively forget that little fact because… nostalgia?”

“Where is he, Tony?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Steve’s hand moved towards his torso and Tony flinched hard, anticipating the blow. Instead buttons littered the dusty floor when Steve curled a fist around the collar and yanked the shirt apart. Cool night breeze skated freely across his bare chest and he suddenly found himself hating the warmth Steve seemed to emanate. The proximity felt almost taunting. Steve was so close, so angry and lost, and the arm that was securing Tony to the wall pinched deeper into his throat. 

“I’m not asking again.”

It effectively cut off his air supply. His body jerked instinctively and he wheezed, "Torture?" His knees collided with Steve’s and his fingers came up to scrabble blindly across solid biceps. “Never thought you have it in you. Well, guess what? I’m no stranger to that either. So do your worst.”

Despite the vehemence, Tony inwardly shuddered when he realised how truly fucked up he was in actuality. He steeled himself, rallying every morsel of bravado that he had and willed venom to drip from his glare. Steve watched him mutely, but Tony could hear the words anyway - _you should've put on the suit_ \- mocking him and his vulnerability.

Just when he thought Steve wouldn’t rise to the bait, he felt a callous palm tracing the edge of his collar bone. He stiffened. Steve could’ve snapped any bone in his body – as easy as breathing – and here he had his victim snared exactly where he wanted. He ventured lower, hovering right above the mass of scars over his heart where the arc reactor once was. That spot would do too. Void of support from the ribcages, a mere rap to it was probably enough to send him into cardiac arrest. He breathed hard and fast, panic and bile rising in his throat.

But Steve wasn’t cruel, didn’t hurt him like Tony thought he would, until a sharp pain erupted just above his hip bone. He gasped, and for a crazy second he thought this was it, Steve had finally attacked him. But when he dared to look up from the ground, he discerned only the faintest hint of concern in those brilliant blue eyes. 

“Who did this to you?”

He gestured at the ugly blotch of blue and black that was no older than a week, splotched distastefully across Tony's side. It was recovering, though. If nobody touched it, he wouldn’t even remember he had it in the first place.

“Was it Zemo?”

Tony averted his eye to an empty barrel.

“You made your bed, Tony,” Steve sighed sadly. “Haven’t I warned you?”

“He was going to unleash _three dozens_ of Cape Killers on your ass, Steve! Maybe if you’d learn how to stay undercover properly, or tell your band of Merry Men to stop drawing attention to yourselves –”

Steve drowned his reproaches with a kiss, deep and needy. His tongue infiltrated Tony’s warm cavern and they duelled, flesh on flesh, because this was all they had left since Steve chose the exit. Tony missed the way Steve would hold on to him at night. In the throes of nightmares and remnants of fear from a bygone lifetime, Steve would find solace in his company. Now he’d had it again, Steve on him in person, leaning into him, littering the side of his jaws with little bites and licks. Tony couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and it didn’t improve when Steve wedged his thighs with his knee. It hurt, the way his back was scrapping the wall, or finding how _hard_ they both were but neither cared to do anything about it. At long last Steve pulled back, and Tony flooded his lungs with as much air as he could, when all of a sudden he was bodily lifted from the ground and slammed face first onto a wooden table. 

Momentarily all there was to see was white sparks, and he wasn’t particularly aware when Steve held him around his waist and hoist him up. Things started flying – his belt that wasn’t particularly expensive, his pants that wasn’t actually custom-tailored. But the way Steve undid them all without care as if nothing mattered anymore, that kindness was wasted upon a man like Tony – it cut him something deep. 

Next was fear, undiluted and unforgiving, when Steve’s fingers circled the rim of his entrance. 

“Oh God, stop, not like this –”

“Where’s Bucky? Where’s the rest of them? I know you have a prison built for this purpose.”

“I can’t say!”

Tony let out a sharp cry when Steve shove two digits in. They’d done this so many times before that his body had always been more than ready as Steve prepared him. This felt nothing like it. In the recesses of Tony’s bank of happier memories, Steve was gentle, always wanting to give. Yet as Tony now lay bare before him, knuckles white from gripping the edge of the table too tightly, Steve bore into him relentlessly. Resigned, Tony bit into his lips and slumped against the surface. He’d take it. He’d take it all.

Then Steve reached around to curl a fist firmly around his dick. This too, he surrendered to - the unmistaken spurt of pleasure. It was a sick sight to behold no doubt, Steve working him up at a steady rhythm from both ends, driving him mad to his brink. What was the meaning of all these struggles? What were they fighting each other for? 

Was it worth it?

And Steve entered him. 

Tony reeled at the intrusion. It wasn’t brutal, but it was as cold and clinical as the gaping distance between Steve and him even as they moved at an awkward rhythm. He curled into himself. He felt Steve tighten his hold around his waist and God, that _hurt_. He choked on his screams when Steve accidentally pressed into the bruise. There was no respite. Every thrust a sharp pain to his back. To his heart. This wasn’t love. But it wasn’t vengeance either. Or hate. There was no kindness in it. Nothing familiar in the way Steve move inside him. It was just taking and taking, until Tony had nothing left to offer. 

This was War. And in War, only one will triumph. 

Tony lay motionlessly on the table for what seemed like forever. He mentally tuned out the movements while reminiscing on better whiles. Before he could get to the part where Steve spoke the sacred three words for the first time, a weight sank onto his back.

“Are you afraid, Tony?”

Tony blinked away the slight moisture that was building up in his eyes. Clarity returned to his sight and mind, and he knew right away what he’d learned tonight.

“Yes. But not of you.” He let his forehead rest on the table. “I’m afraid of _losing_ you.”

There was no more fight left in him when Steve pulled out and braced him by the shoulders. Carefully, he rolled Tony over so he could look at the face of the person he once swore to protect, to love, to the end of time. And now he saw what the War had done to Tony. He noticed the impression of a haunted man who’d lost too much weight and sleep. He noted those dark ringlets around his eyes. How pale and lifeless Tony was before him. 

Tony surprised himself when he so much as relished Steve kissing him again. This time, it was just the way he remembered it – soft, slow. Apologetic. He hungered for the affection, and when Steve penetrated him again, a soft moan escaped his chapped lips.

Then their bodies rocked as one. 

It was just him and Steve and what remained of their bond that they both had a hand in flaying alive. Tony wrapped his legs around Steve’s narrow hips. The sex was just as raw and frantic. Guess this was how fucked up they were that the only coherent way of conveying sorry’s and miss-you’s was hurting each other and some more. Steve suddenly tugged at the underside of his knees and jutted his hip at an angle that almost split Tony into two. Another scream ripped out of his throat. Something tore, he knew it, but he didn’t ask Steve to stop or even slow down because if – when – the contact was gone, he wasn’t sure if he’d have the strength to move on.

Soon, pleasure replaced the flaring heat with Steve pounding incessantly against the notch that made his limbs go numb. Teetering on the verge of overstimulation, he drowned the night with the seas of his cries, and when he was granted his blissful release, he was already gone. 

As always when Steve was involved, when there was darkness there would also be warmth. A gentle rustle of cotton cardigan that smelled of soap and earth was draped over his front. Then he was airborne – kind of – because there was nothing under or around him anymore, save for the pair of strong arms supporting his back and legs. Feelings, memories, thoughts, and speech… just abstract nuances – it was so difficult to focus on even just one. With enough concentration he could make out that same callous palm cradling the side of his cheek. And then it vanished. 

Tony reached out. He grappled blindly in the air until Steve caught him.

“You need to rest. I shouldn’t… we shouldn’t’ve…”

“Steve,” Tony rasped, “just come home with me?”

“You know I can’t.” He shrugged himself free. “I’m sorry.”

And that was it. That was the conclusion of their sinful meeting. In the dead of the night, behind the backs of their allies and most trusted comrades, they met, fucked, and went back to opposite sides of the chessboard. Nothing counted for anything at the end of the day. And like hell if he'd have to forge ahead without at least carving his hell onto Steve, too. 

“If you have another way out where this doesn’t end bloody, then tell me ‘cause this one sucked!”

Steve spared him a sorrowful look before he turned to the door. That was another piece of Tony tossed into the fire for the War. At least now he knew where Steve stand. But the absence of the one thing he couldn’t live without? He didn’t think he could deal with it, but he probably wouldn’t live long enough to learn how to. 

Then so be it.


End file.
